Homework
by Mice
Summary: Bobby Drake writes an essay for class on why he is different. This is another old story; written for an old friend.


****Author's Note**** Right after the first X-Men movie came out (before they established a different Bobby Drake history), a website named C-Fan (a resource for all comic book fan fiction at the time) issued a challenge to write fic about it. Kielle, who managed C-Fan, wanted to welcome people. It was who she was. I wrote this for her, drawing from our first meeting. This is what I learned from her.

**Homework**  
by Mice

Usually when I talk to Professor Xavier, all I can think is, "Can  
you hear me? Can you hear me, now? No? How about now? Okay, wink  
if you can hear me. Come on, don't be shy, this'll just be between  
us..." I mean, just how else are you going to act while listening  
to a telepath? However, he usually can tell that I'm not paying  
attention to what he's saying. "Robert Drake, I am not going to  
read your mind today, tomorrow, or yesterday, now please pay  
attention!" he'll yell in front of the whole class. It embarasses  
me at times, but that's what normal high school supposed to be  
like. That's what I tell my classmates that will never go to one  
because we're different from normal kids.

My life has always been a bit different from all the normal kids  
I've known. For one, I was born in Germany. My father was  
stationed there during his Air Force days. It would be six more  
years before he'd retire and move back to Long Island.

I'm also the only child in my family, which was quite a miracle in  
itself. My mother was told that she would never be able to have  
children however, after she hit forty, I came along. Mom always  
tells me that having me was the best orgasm of her life. I don't  
think that made my life any different, I think that just scarred  
it. Irrevocably. Cannot ever unhear those words.

Another thing that's always separated me from everyone else is the  
fact that my mother's Jewish and my dad's Irish Catholic. Do you  
know how awkward it is to go to Hebrew school and being let out on  
St. Patrick's Day?

My father never really knew what to do with me. By the time I came  
into his life, he was kind of too old to do the traditional  
father/son things because he was an old man. After work, after he  
kissed Mom, he'd come into the den where I was either watching  
cartoons or doing homework, he'd pat my head and asked me if  
everything was okay. Everyday up until I was sixteen when I got  
accepted here.

It was July 15th and the temperature was about ninety eight  
degrees and humid. I remember it so clearly because it was my  
birthday and I was wearing a light blue sweater with only a  
t-shirt underneath - my hot weather clothes. Ever since I can  
remember, I've always been inexplicably cold. It wasn't uncommon  
for me to go watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July in a parka  
and one of those funny hats with the ear flaps, but on my  
birthday, it always seemed much warmer than it usually was and I  
didn't need to wear as much clothing.

Now, when most kids turn sixteen, they go and get their license  
and, hopefully, a car and a party with all their friends. In case  
you couldn't tell, I wasn't one of these kids. My weirdness pretty  
much separated me from the rest of the kids at school, so my  
friends were pretty much limited to cousins and relatives who were  
all so much older than me, and for my birthday, my mother would  
serve ice cream cake (so no one would notice if it was frozen if  
my powers would flare up) and my relatives would in turn pinch my  
cheek, making it much redder than it already was and making me  
much more uncomfortable that I already was. Just because I was  
always cold didn't mean I was safe from sunburn. Do you know what  
wool and sun block smell like?

This birthday, there were a few new people there. One was  
Professor Xavier and the other was Miss Munroe. Mom and Dad kept  
talking to them and pointing to me and they nodded. I remember Mom  
crying afterwards, and then Dad coming over to me and then giving  
me this great big hug, stroking my hair and muttered something  
about how everything was finally going to be okay for me.

Later, the Professor talked to me privately about what he was what  
he said to my parents. He told me about his school and how his  
former students - who were now teachers there - were mutants  
just like me who couldn't control their powers. And at this  
school, there would be others like me.

We left for Westchester soon after that. I felt so nervous as we  
entered the gates, but in a good way. I couldn't wait to meet all  
these other kids, but when we got inside, no one was there. The  
Professor said that I was the first of the new roster, but new  
students were coming soon. It seems so silly now, but after  
everyone left, I went to my room and vowed never to come out for  
being lied to.

The next week, Kitty Pryde was coming up from Illinois. I was  
still feeling hurt about being let down, and on my birthday on top  
of that! Nobody was there for me, why should I be there for them?  
But as the car stopped at the door and Kitty came out looking at  
the front door, I immediately recognized the look on Kitty's face.  
It was the same one I had when I was outside the door. She didn't  
come here to find help with her powers, she came because she  
didn't want to be the only one. I felt selfish and realized that  
if she felt the same way I did, then she would do the same thing I  
did and disappear. And so would everyone else and all because I  
was locked away in my room, too stubborn and too afraid to be  
different.

After a quick grooming session of an Altoid and some deodorant, I  
sped down the stairs to greet her. Scared her half to death, but  
she got over that when she realized she wasn't the only one here.  
We began to talk about our powers and learned that she was Jewish,  
something else we had in common. Later, we invented new games to  
play on the pool table (none of us knew the right way to do it)  
and did declared our love of John Hughes movies and how creepy we  
both found Macauley Culkin to be.

Summer began to end and more and more kids came. At first, a new  
kid would arrive every day, but by Labor Day, they were coming in  
by the teens, and I made sure that I was there at the door to  
greet them and to assure them that they were not alone; even the  
ones that came in with other kids.

You want to know how I'm different and I'm not going to say the  
answer you probably think I should. Because I don't think I am  
different. I always focused on what made me so different from all  
the people around me, but coming here, I'm not. There's so many of  
us with the same fears and dreams. And we only know that because  
we talk about it. How many normal people - or people we think are  
normal - have the same thoughts? Whatever the DNA, I really think  
we're all the same.

Nobody - human or mutant - wants to be alone in this world.

I don't want to be different because I can freeze the air around  
me, I want to be different in that I don't ignore the pain of  
others by indulging in mine.

"This isn't California, Lee, it's New York. And in New York, we  
pitch baseballs, not screenplays!" Bobby Drake hollered from his  
position on second base, sweating in his loose t-shirt and jeans.

"Just whose team are you on, you Long Island iced tea!"

"I call them as I see them, Lee!"

Jubilee, in a decidedly mature move on her part, turned and stuck  
her tongue out at her second baseman.

Bobby grinned as he turned to Kitty who was ready to sprint to  
third base. "It's only a matter of time before that girl admits  
she's in love with me."

Kitty promptly rolled her eyes as she ran safely to third base.  
Bobby kept his eye on Theresa Cassidy as she eyed the distance  
between first and second base.

"Drake, heads up!"

Bobby turned just in time to catch a baseball that Jubilee had  
thrown at him. "What is it?"

Jubilee motioned to the dug out. "Mr. Summers wants to see you."

Bobby motioned to Sam Guthrie in the outfield to take his place as  
slowly made his way to the dugout, a tight knot forming in his  
stomach.

"Yes, Mr. Summers?" Bobby said calmly while repeating in his mind,  
'Please don't be about English, please don't be about English...'

"It's about the essay you did in English the other - Bobby, you  
know I can't read minds, so please pay attention."

"Yes, sir."

Scott Summers sighed before continuing. "As I was saying, this is  
about your essay you did the other day."

Bobby nodded. "I thought so. I'm sorry I didn't get it right, I  
thought-"

"Bobby, you had the best essay in the class."

Bobby blinked. "Wait, are you sure it was mine, then?"

Scott laughed as he nodded. "I showed it to the professor and he  
was very proud of you."

Bobby began to grin. "Really?"

"The reason I wanted to talk to you though is because while your  
essay was good, you had a lot of spelling mistakes and grammatical  
errors."

"Oh."

"I didn't want you to be disappointed by your grade - you got  
fifty out of fifty for content, but only thirty-four out of fifty  
for structure."

"Oh."

"However, that B deserves to be an A, Bobby. So," Scott paused as  
he took out Bobby's essay from a folder. "I want you to go over  
your paper and correct what you can find. If you still need help,  
you can come to me when you're not busy and I can help you."

Bobby looked down on his paper and grinned.

"You're a good writer, Bobby. You could be a great one."

Bobby, still looking down on his paper, blushed. "Thank you, Mr.  
Summers."

Scott grinned as he began to leave. "I want to see that paper  
revised tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay!"

"And don't let Jubilee give you any more lip out there!"

Bobby saluted as Scott walked away. "You can count on me, sir!"  
Bobby looked at his paper and all the comments in the margin that  
not only Mr. Summer's left for him, but the Professor, as well. He  
placed his essay in his backpack before running back out to second  
base, sticking his tongue out at Jubilee as he did so.


End file.
